


Sing Me A Canvas

by HotTopic97



Category: Gunslinger Girl, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Mentions of Suicide, Rico's gonna have some serious wheel turning going on LOL, but good imaginative ones nonetheless, includes twenty øne piløts and Blurryface, interesting stuffffff, made by me, mentions of TØP, mistaken thoughts, songfic collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-09 10:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotTopic97/pseuds/HotTopic97
Summary: While øn a missiøn, Ricø cømes acrøss a pøster in the røøm øf a victim øf terrørist viølence. The pøster intrigues her, sø she decides tø take it høme tø the Agency.Gunslinger Girl søngfic cøllectiøn + twenty øne piløts's føurth album, Blurryface.





	1. HEAVYDIRTYSØUL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday to everyone's favorite singer and rapper, Tyler Joseph!
> 
> *crowd cheers* Lurv you so much, Tyjo! Stay cool, and I hope this year is the best you've ever had! :D
> 
> The clique: *alive
> 
> Me: SILENCE PEASANTS!
> 
> The clique: HISSSSSSSSSSSS
> 
> Hope you enjoy this fantabulous thingy here, guys. :) (And Tyler...if you happen to be reading this right now...)

"This place is...certainly...unique", notes an astonished Rico as her blue eyes scan the apartment she's currently in.

The white walls surrounding her have poster after poster taped to them, words written in big letters and vivid colors and intricate designs decorating them. Something that Jean called a TV sits on top of an interesting cabinet of sorts across a wooden coffee table and a mahogany love seat, where various DVD cases and lone CDs lay strewn about carelessly. A few articles of clothing lay around the floor; there's even a pair of blue boxers slung across the TV.

The kitchenette has its microwave door open; nothing's inside it...Rico doesn't live in an apartment herself, but she would call that rather bizarre. Plastic cups, dirty dishes, and a water bottle or two made the area look just as weird. A wallet, a set of car keys, a heather gray hoodie, and a light green laundry basket lay on the granite countertop. 

"It's just like any other apartment in Rome", Jean, her handler, told her. "It's rather messy, but an apartment to live in, nonetheless."

The fratello are at the apartment of Amanda Ermacora, a former aide in the Social Welfare Agency's rehab program. Not even twenty-four hours ago, she was found dead outside of her very apartment building; she's believed to have jumped off the roof to her death. It would've been left to the local police to handle, but Rico and Jean were sent to investigate this particular case because one of her good friends is understood to be a wanted member of the R.F., known for smuggling weapons from France into Italy and to other R.F. terrorists. The police and the media have been taken care of, so they are free to find out what exactly caused her to commit suicide; though it is highly possible that she was pressured by fear and intimidation...or worse, to do so.

"Rico."

Instinctively, the blonde cyborg snaps to attention at the sound of her name. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you to check the rooms down the hall and see if there's anything lead-worthy. Search the bedroom, there might be a journal or laptop we can look into."

"Yes, sir", the girl says, and obediently walks down the hall to her left to complete her task.

The hallway has four doorways, two on either side. Rico decides to first look to the nearest door on her left. She opens it to simply find a washer and dryer. 

 _I doubt there's anything lead-worthy in here,_ she thinks. But due to her conditioning, which makes her follow orders without question, she looks inside both for anything.  _Nothing._

She then turns around, to find the door diagonally across from her cracked open slightly. Curious, she decides to go in and look there, hoping to find some positive results.

When she opens the door, it only adds to her amazement.

The walls of the bedroom are a lilac shade, and even more posters (and some photos) of various size and color cover them, barely leaving a free inch of space. The queen size bed is unmade, the white polka dotted sheets (almost like a leopard pattern!), and the blue and purple gradient blanket with black stripes twisted this way and that. The black pillows stay where they're supposed to be, a yellow circular pillow with a smiley face on it placed on top of both.

Golden lights hung by a white wire hang above the room, serving as light in place of the ceiling fan with lights. A dark brown desk sits across from the bed, cluttered with several papers and various writing utensils. A chair with wheels sits under it. 

Rico stands there, enthralled by the many posters that surround the walls. One large black one has a yellow face with X's for eyes and a scrawled out smile with a tongue sticking out with the word "Nirvana" above it in the same color. Another one shows a man with a glowing sword held up in the air. A woman with a gun stands next to him, and two robots stand behind them both. A rather fearsome mask is above them along with several flying ships and a large ball above a starry landscape. Another one is of a navy blue police box floating about with lightning striking it in all directions in the starry sky.

And then there's the photos. There's one with two girls with T-shirts proudly holding some kind of award. There's one with one of the same girls holding an older woman in an affectionate manner. At this point, Rico believes the brunette in both of those photos is Amanda Ermacora. 

Another photo shows Amanda and a group of friends huddled together behind a huge fire. Another one is of Amanda smiling brightly with five men. Yet another one shows a man with tattoos all around his arms, his lips puckered up, holding a brightly smiling Amanda, who was holding up some kind of tag, against him outside what was probably a restaurant.

 _This woman sure liked to make memories,_ Rico thinks to herself. She's suddenly reminded of Henrietta, and the camera her handler Jose had given her as a reward, and how she uses it to create some kind of photo album as a place to keep happy and treasurable memories. She had taken several photos with it when they and their handlers vacationed in Sicily and had placed them all in that large book to show Rico herself and all their other cyborg friends of the Agency.

_I wonder if Amanda has a photo album of her own around here..._

Her conditioning reminds her to stay focused and complete her task. So she goes over to the messy desk, searches through the papers, drops various colored highlighters, pens, and pencils in the process. Most of them are work-oriented documents, a few are just discarded euros...

But then...

Under the mess is another poster, this one white, with tiny words written in black and red ink, all around it. A large circle was drawn on it, taking up space in the middle of it. The inside was colored black, with three rectangles, two white and one red, off to the left side. The first white one is vertical, elongated; the other is short, horizontal; and the red one is similar to the first one, elongated, but...drawn diagonally. 

_Strange. Wonder what that means..._

On the top right side of the circle and on the bottom, there are two white spaces, one square, one rectangle, intricately, carefully crafted out. There are bigger words written in black, ones she can read. 

"Twenty One Pilots", Rico reads from the square. At least...that's what she  _thinks_ it's pronounced as; a long, red, diagonal line is crossed through the O's. One of the languages she can speak is Danish, and they have their O's with a slash through it; but this writing is in English...and last time she checked, the sound made by the letter "ø" isn't a known sound made in English speaking...was it put there on purpose?  _Well, obviously it was._ But why? Was it because Amanda was studying the English language, and she was Danish? Or was it just put there to look flashy?

She looks down to the word in the bottom rectangle. It appears to have a line through it, as if it wasn't supposed to be there. But it is comprehensible to read.

"Blurryface...?", she reads.  _Hmmm..._

She places the poster back down for the time-being...she's still got a job to do. There's drawers directly below the surface of the desk, so she looks inside the biggest one in the middle. It's crammed with manila folders, full of papers concerning her job at the Agency...there's also a resumé in one of them...but then she finds a plain red notebook with a black spine, the words "Composition Book" in bold black lettering in a white rectangle smack in the middle of it. 

Peeking inside the first page, she finds a date: "10/9/13" written in sky blue colored pencil across the top of the page. Then, a paragraph.

_I feel like a dork for writing in this thing...but I've heard it helps out. Okay...I don't know if I should start bluntly, or if I should introduce myself...God, now I REALLY sound like a dork. Whatever. Hi, diary. My name is Amanda, I just turned 20 two days ago, I'm currently attending Grand Hills College in Detroit, Michigan right now...I wanna be a nurse, because nurses do more work to help out the sick and the injured than the doctors...ha, at least, that's what my mom says--I'm working at a radio station to support myself financially as a DJ for the Top 40 and Alternative Rock stations there--I like the Alternative Rock station better; I relate to the music played there, and everyone else who works there are so nice; some of them I am proud to call my best friends._

Michigan she knows is a state in the United States; so Amanda was an American. She was formerly a DJ for a radio station before coming to Italy to work for the Agency's rehab program. She likes posters and making memories by photo. And Rico's just acquired her diary--which she learned all this from. And she knows that personal entries in diaries can reveal some information when it comes to solving cases.

After searching some more through the room, the young cyborg turns to leave, diary in hand, but...something stops her from exiting.

The poster...the poster she had looked at not too long ago...

It's still sitting on the desk among the several other papers that cluttered the desk. It's like it's...calling to her. Wanting her to take it up again, look through it, read it. Even though it's not hers. It's not something that's necessary to finding the R.F. terrorist that pressured her so much that she died to avoid any more tension. Yet...

It seems right to take this poster from this room for some reason. Not for using it as a clue, just as a...keepsake, of sorts. Something like a present, like what her roommate normally gets from her handler.

It sounds selfish, though. She should only be concerned about doing her job by following Jean's orders and completing missions in victorious results. She shouldn't want such trivial things, especially things that aren't hers.

But she is taking someone's diary with all their personal thoughts and secrets in it...but it's being used for a good purpose, right? To terminate terrorists, people who cause harm to others...to Amanda...

She grabs the poster without even realizing what she's doing, folds it carefully into fours, and hides it in her beige-colored jacket before walking out, a somewhat guilty feeling...probably due to the conditioning, a feeling of...happiness...? (Shouldn't happiness not be caused by stealing?), and a runny nose of something thick falling out along with a throbbing headache following her out. 

* * *

She returns to her dorm rather hurriedly, out of fear that Jean would figure out what she has done. She's thankful for the emptiness she's met with, as the pounding headache had gotten worse during the drive back. Not that she doesn't like her roommate's company (she heard she's with her handler on a mission somewhere in northeastern Italy), it's just right now she feels...

_Guilty..._

Yet all she wants to do right now is curl up under the covers and sleep for 2 full days.

She slips out of her work shoes and does just that, not caring that the stolen poster is still folded up in her jacket...

* * *

When she wakes up, it's dark out, and the headache is mostly gone...but there's still kind of a dull throbbing in the back of her head. Nothing she can't handle, which is good.

She does her daily routine of flexing a hand in front of her face; a way of making sure she still has her body. 

She does.

Relief sets in.  _Good. I'm still free to move however I want to._

She sits up, confused. First of all, why is she still in her work clothes? 

Then the reality sets in. Of what happened earlier that day.

_Oh._

She doesn't really feel anything anymore. Unless apathy counts as an emotion, she feels that.  _Weird..._

But...nice, somehow. She'd rather feel nothing than have to feel guilt for sneaking something she wasn't supposed to take. 

But then again...she  _did_ take a diary, a more personal belonging, from that apartment...but then again, it was being used as a lead to catch an R.F. terrorist and kill him. It was being used for a purpose, whereas the folded-up poster in her jacket was being used for nothing.

But she was still taking...for good purposes, right?

_Right?_

She unbuttons the jacket and pulls out the folded up item in question, unfolding it to see the full thing. All the small words in capital letters, written in black and red pen, surrounding that big black circle with the pencil outline, those rectangles and carefully drawn out white boxes with those words in them. 

Rico climbs out of her bunk, rubbing one of her tired blue eyes and walks over to flip up the light switch to read the poster better. She then takes a seat at the small circular table and begins to read the words before her from the top. 

_THERE'S AN INFESTATIØN IN MY MIND'S IMAGINATIØN_

Oh, so all the O's in the writing have that fancy red slash through them, too. But why, though? Last time she checked, that type of O isn't part of the English language.

_I HØPE THAT THEY CHØKE ØN SMØKE CUZ I'M SMØKING THEM ØUT THE BASEMENT_

They? Who're  _they,_ exactly? And what is this word "cuz"? Judging by the context it was being used in, Rico guesses it's another word for "because". 

"Cuz"..."Because"...

They sound very similar; "cuz" is probably taken out of the word "because". That explains it. 

_THIS IS NØT RAP THIS IS NØT HIP-HØP JUST ANØTHER ATTEMPT TØ MAKE THE VØICES STØP_

Voices? What voices? Sure, she hears voices; she hears voices everyday, from all the people she lives with at the Agency...Jean, Triela, Henrietta...

Speaking of which...

To her surprise, her roommate's bunk is empty, vacant. Henrietta must not be back from her mission yet. Good. Rico doesn't have to worry about being inconsiderate or anything like that.

Anyway, back to the poster in her hands...yes, she hears voices everyday, from all those she lives with at the Agency; there's also sometimes the voice in her head that's likely the conditioning Jean frequently has the doctors administer to her. It's never been a problem, really. But why are voices such a problem, according to Amanda, the one who scribbled these words out on here? 

_RAPPING TØ PROVE NØTHING JUST WRITING TØ SAY SØMETHING CUZ I WASN'T THE ØNLY ØNE WHØ WASN'T RUSHING TØ SAY NØTHING_

What the heck is rapping? She figures she'll have to ask Claes or Triela about that tomorrow. They'd know what that was.

She notices that the writing on this paper is kinda like poetry; the words seem to rhyme every so often. Like with "nothing" and "something" rhyming, "hip-hop" and "stop" rhyming...maybe this right here is all poetry. An interestingly long poem at that. Maybe she can show the other girls all this sometime.

Hopefully they won't tell Jean about it, though. For some reason, she doesn't really want to forget this interesting poster.

_THIS DØESN'T MEAN I LØST MY DREAM IT'S JUST RIGHT NØW I GØT A REALLY CRAZY MIND TØ CLEAN_

And what exactly is that dream, Rico wonders. Is it something good? She can't help but feel a little jealous at that. She does dream, but she always wakes up not remembering what said dream is about. But she always wakes up with tears to wipe from her eyes; does that mean the dreams she has are sad? Or are they so beautiful, so incredible, that she sheds tears of happiness? Claes mentioned something about that a while ago. But she'd never know, never remember.

_GANGSTERS DØN'T CRY THEREFØRE THEREFØRE I'M MR. MISTY-EYED THEREFØRE I'M_

So bad guys...gangsters, thugs, terrorists...they don't cry...she doesn't think she's ever seen one cry before...

Wait...

Was Amanda trying to be a  _gangster?_ And she felt that she couldn't be one because she was "Mr. Misty-Eyed" or whatever? What exactly did that phrase mean, exactly? 

Misty eyes...she heard from one of Hilshire's lectures about poetry about misty eyes. That meant someone was crying. Does that mean she felt she couldn't be a gangster because she cried too much? A better question is, why did she want to be a gangster in the first place?

She had half a mind to show this to Jean, to show him that this could probably be something that would blow their case wide open. (There were no weapons inside her apartment probably because weapons weren't allowed inside her building...but then again, that usually didn't stop terrorists.) But then again, she heard poetry was, in a nutshell, just a bunch of metaphors from Triela, stuff not meant to be taken literally. So that, and outright curiosity, keeps her glued to her seat.

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

Why is the word "heavydirtysoul" in red with a black slash through the "o"? Actually, wasn't it supposed to be  _three_ words? So why are they clumped together like that to form one word? For the sake of poetry, maybe? 

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_FØR ME FØR ME_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_FØR ME FØR ME_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

Was this what Amanda was thinking if she was being harassed by that Padania terrorist? That her soul was heavy to carry and dirty? Was she crying out for help while writing this thing down? 

She'd heard that poetry is a way of expressing oneself, whether one is jovial, crestfallen, livid...whatever mood they were in, an author often took a pen and paper and wrote what they felt about a specific subject. At least, that's what Triela had said to her once. She vaguely remembers a debate between the pigtailed girl and her bespectacled roommate about poetry soon after. But if what Triela said to her is true, was this Amanda wanting someone to help save her from the Padania, to save her from some...infestation in her head? (She hasn't figured out what that means, yet.) 

_NAH I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND A THING YØU SAID_

Huh? Was "nah" another word for "no"? Probably. And, wow, now the mood of this poem's changed. Drastically, almost. From frantic to...bitter...?  Is that the right word for it?

_IF I DIDN'T KNØW BETTER I'D GUESS YØU'RE ALREADY DEAD_

...Huh?

_MINDLESS ZØMBIES WALKING ARØUND WITH A LIMP AND A HUNCH SAYING STUFF LIKE YØU ØNLY LIVE ØNCE_

What exactly are zombies? And why are they brainless? Talking isn't possible without a brain, so why are they saying "You only live once", and other things? 

 _Metaphors, Rico. Poetry's just a bunch of metaphors,_ a voice in her head tells her. 

Zombies apparently are people who don't think with their brains. These particular ones here walk around with limps and are hunched over, as if it pains them to walk. "You only live once", is a meaningless statement they say.

But...isn't that how life is? A person is born, lives, then dies? It's--life--is a one-time thing. As far as she knows, people don't live two times, three times, or five times.

_YØU GØT ØNE TIME TØ FIGURE IT ØUT_

Figure  _what_ out, exactly? How one's life is to be lived? 

Well, she can't exactly do that. Rico's been made as a cyborg assassin to eliminate terrorists. That's not a choice she made, but she doesn't mind that. She loves her life at the Agency, and she loves getting rid of terrorists for them. She loves spending time with the other girls there, and most importantly, she is eternally grateful for her new body the Agency has provided her, and saved her from spending one more painful hour in that hospital bed. She has a relatively nice life; she wouldn't change it for  _anything._

_ØNE TIME TØ TWIST AND ØNE TIME TØ SHØUT_

_ØNE TIME TØ THINK AND I SAY WE START NØW SING IT WITH ME IF YØU KNØW WHAT I'M TALKING ABØUT_

Wait a second here... _"one time to twist and one time to shout"_...

She hardly ever shouts...the only times she does are on the battlefield to be heard clearly, and sometimes whenever she gets excited. She's shouted more than once. And twisting? She's done that a few times, too. 

Rico does think. She's thinking right now about the meaning of these written words in front of her and what they can possibly mean. The conditioning  _does_ make her follow her handler's orders, but it doesn't prevent her from thinking. Thoughts do cross her mind every so often. For example, every morning when she wakes up, she wonders if she still has her new body, and is not dependent on a respirator with sharp pains in her chest every time she so much as breathes. 

And the poster is certainly making her think a lot. All these words before her are certainly interesting to think about.

_"Sing it with me if you know what I'm talking about..."_

Rico has the feeling that maybe this isn't poetry she's reading...

It's a song. 

A very long song that takes up an entire poster, but still a song nonetheless. Not something she's ever heard before, though. The songs she has heard are Beethoven's 9th, which she sang out on a field in the bitter cold with Henrietta, Triela, and Claes while watching a meteor shower that one time, a few Christmas carols, and part of a song from the Tosca opera she went to wearing that red dress Jean said didn't suit her. 

Wait a second...

This isn't just one song...it's a  _collection_ of songs. The words in red (or words clumped together), are the titles of the songs. The words in black are the lyrics, along with the title of the songs. "Blurryface", on the bottom, must be the title of an opera these songs are from. Amanda Ermacora wrote down the lyrics of some opera...Blurryface...along this very poster, as well as put the large circle in the middle from the theatrical poster.

Maybe. She's never heard of this opera before.

Maybe it's just an opera that's been performed in America only, and not an internationally recognized one.

Now who exactly are these "Twenty One Pilots"? Are they the characters of this particular opera?

_GANGSTERS DØN'T CRY THEREFØRE THEREFØRE I'M MR. MISTY-EYED THEREFØRE I'M_

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_FØR ME FØR ME_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_FØR ME FØR ME_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

These next two lines certainly are a doozie.

_DEATH INSPIRES ME LIKE A DØG INSPIRES A RABBIT_

_DEATH INSPIRES ME LIKE A DØG INSPIRES A RABBIT_

So...Amanda...er...the person who'd be singing this song in the opera...is... _inspired_ by death...? She wonders if the character singing this piece is a poet, and he's using the prospect of death as inspiration for writing his poems. And the dog inspiring a rabbit is some sort of creative metaphor. That's kind of...morbid, like one of those short stories wrote by some man named Poe that she's read during lectures.

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_FØR ME FØR ME_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_FØR ME FØR ME_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

_CAN YØU SAVE_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY SAVE MY_

_CAN YØU SAVE MY HEAVYDIRTYSØUL_

And that appears to be the end of the song, from the looks of it. 

 _Well, this opera's songs are rather interesting,_ Rico thinks. With this first song...Heavydirtysoul...'s repetition of words, constant use of rhyming, some...abbreviations...? from the looks of it,  _reaaallly_ freaky metaphors, and rather introspective way of thinking...this is probably something that's worth reading. 

But Rico can't help but wonder if Amanda somehow found a safe house with this opera. The dark lyrics telling a morbid tale of a failing poet with internal struggles might have been something to cling to during the terror that R.F. terrorist struck in her heart. It's almost like making this poster that she's now reading was a...relieving...thing to do. Something to take away the tension of what was going on around her. It was like that one time when Rico...um...uh...well...

Strange. She can't relate to this.

Rico looks up at the window in front of her, the sky behind the glass panes a navy blue, a few stars twinkling in the distance.

It's late, and the other cyborgs are probably asleep at this hour. So that means she should probably do the same.

She folds up the poster the way it was before in her jacket and, for the time being, takes off the beige-colored item, and covers the poster up with it, draping it carefully over the item in question. She then strips out of her street clothes and into her light blue pajamas and crawls into her bunk again after turning out the light. 

But she finds it hard to fall asleep once more, as a lot of thoughts without answers concerning what she's read swarm her mind. 

 

 


	2. STRESSED ØUT

At the shooting range, Rico fires two rounds from her sniper into one of the many black person-shaped targets.

"That first shot was a  _clear_ one, Rico", Jean tells her after a period of silence. "Don't waste bullets on a target that's already taken out. You need to move onto others on the front and terminate them as well."

"Yes, sir", Rico replies obediently.

Jean rolls his eyes and faces the distant targets. "Move onto the next one. I want to see a bullet hole made in the middle of its chest."

The cyborg takes two steps to her right and lines up with the target in front of where she stands. She and her handler have one of the Agency's outdoor shooting ranges all to themselves; it's a rather busy day, as many bad guys had been located by the Agency. Triela left some time ago with Hilshire, Beatrice and Bernardo for Sardinia, and to her knowledge Henrietta isn't back from her mission yet. Petrushka could probably be out too, or doing something else on the Agency grounds. And it is likely that the small blonde is going to be training here, with a few rounds in the CQB course as well, all day, so visiting Angelica in the infirmary or helping Claes with her garden isn't happening.

And Jean seems...on edge. More irritable than usual. And Rico doesn't know why. Sure, he's kind of a rough person, but he _is_ her handler. They're fratello, after all. A team. Siblings. If they are so, she can care and worry about how he's feeling and what's causing him to be so stiff, was that correct?

But the conditioning in her system is telling her that it isn't any of her concern. What _is_ of concern to her is the order she was given, and is expected to follow. 

So she gets into position, her keen eyesight returning to her SVD Dragunov's gunscope, which gives her a close-up view of the cardboard targets mere meters ahead of her. She carefully takes aim at the center of the chest, where she was told to shoot, of the one she's lined up with...

She then remembers something she overheard in a conversation between Marco and Angelica. It was about aim. The brunette handler had told his black-haired cyborg something about aiming a little higher when a target was in one's line of sight. If one aimed a little higher than where they were originally going to put a bullet in a person, they'd acquire a perfect shot. And then she remembers how the technique had worked, and how happy Angelica was that she'd done it, and made a bullseye every time. 

So, Rico thinks, if she follows that kind of technique, then she'd shoot a perfect shot, and make Jean proud of her. 

Or, at least, less irritable than he seems to feel at the moment.

She slowly moves her sniper a little upwards, and without hesitation, pulls the trigger.

A loud bang echos around the range, the sound neither soothing nor unsettling for the young girl. She instead takes the time to see where her bullet had hit the target.

But the sight she's met with through the gunscope is less than satisfactory.

Instead of hitting the middle of the target's chest, the bullet had cut through the line between the second and third circles crowding the chest area of the target. 

Jean throws his pair of binoculars to the ground with a noise of frustration. Rico's attention then instinctively snaps to her handler, but mainly it's being startled by his uncharacteristic display of anger that has her looking his way. 

Her handler's eyes are covered by his dark sunglasses, and they're so dark that she believes that any normal human can't see past them. But with her enhanced sight, she can clearly see his cold blue-green eyes rapidly change temperature, burning a blazing hot fire. His lips pull back, teeth clenched in a nearly feral snarl.

Rico's eyes widen as she resists gulping.

"What did I just tell you to do?!", the blonde handler demands to know.  

"T-to shoot the target i-in the middle of the chest, sir", stammers a nervous Rico. 

"And _what_ was _that_ thatI saw you do just now?!?!"

"...um...", Rico hesitates to answer out of growing anxiety. But her conditioning forcibly pushes her forward, pushing the stuck words out of her mouth like a dozen men working together to push a large boulder up a steep hill. 

"I can explain, sir", the blonde blurts out. "I...heard Marco telling Angelica about this technique you use to hit targets...um..." She finds herself staring at the target she had just shot at, looking at it like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"...you see, he told her that she needed to aim a little higher to hit the target right", she's saying now. "And it worked for her, it really did! So I thought, that if I did the same thing...it would...work...too...?"

She risks an uneasy glance at her handler. And by a gut feeling, she wished she hadn't.

He was _fuming,_ hisface a furious red color and teeth grinding together so tightly and angrily...so _threatening._ Something that Rico believed handlers weren't normally supposed to be.

Jean stalks towards the cyborg girl, the sole sound of shoes scraping dirt making the situation all the more uncomfortable. 

"That's a usable method for _Steyr AUGs_!", the man barks at his charge. "Not _sniper rifles!_ "

He then none too gently snatches Rico's SVD Dragunov from her hands, startling a gasp out of the latter.

"You're _my_ cyborg, Rico", snarls Jean. " _Not_  Marco's. You will listen to what _I_ haveto say. No one else has taught you how to handle a gun, or how to walk on your cybernetic feet, or how to take out the Padania by yourself. I'm called your handler for very well-known reasons!"

Rico's blue eyes go downcast in shame, her face flushing.

She knows her handler was right. He always is. He knows exactly what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. Especially when it comes protecting his country from terrorists. That's why he's Chief Lorenzo's second-in-command, and a leader of sorts to the other fratello. 

Her head rises slowly to see her handler's face, which has softened some, but still holds controlled anger. 

"...yes, sir", she says meekly.

Jean roughly hands her her SVD Dragunov back, which she receives a bit more easily than the average human would thanks to her cybernetic enhancements and trained-in instincts.

"Do as I told you to do before", her handler says, regaining his stoic demeanor. "Shoot that target in the center, and I mean _in the center_ , of its chest. You are to do the same with the other targets around here." He walks towards a concrete slab at the back of the range, where a gray table holding multiple containers of bullets for multiple weapons stands.  

"And you aren't leaving here until I see that you can _consistently_ do so", Jean adds. 

"Yes, sir."

* * *

The rest of the day for Rico had been nothing short of exhausting. For hours upon hours, Rico trained, her sharpshooting practice going on for a long while, as it took quite a bit for her to consistently shoot bullseye after bullseye into the cardboard targets. She then took part in several rounds in the CQB course under the watchful eye of Jean, putting several bullet holes in several wooden cutouts depicting men and women with guns, knives, and other things considered weapons. The cyborg girl even had to demonstrate a few stealth methods and run a few laps around the entire Agency. 

All the while, her handler had drilled lecture after lecture about how she was supposed to carry out her missions, shooting, and her lack of progress on the subjects. 

So with that kind of combination, Rico currently wants nothing more than to drop on her soft and comfortable bunk, and lay there motionless until the agony in her every muscle passes.

She makes sure to close her door and flip the light switch on and does just that, not even bothering to kick off her shoes. Even something as simple as that feels like it must require a great amount of effort, which just isn't in her anymore.

Even cyborgs feel physical fatigue every once in a while.

Well...as least she _can_ move around and be of use to somebody. It's that simple thought that makes her feel optimism instead of just wallowing about for one minute more. 

As soon as the cyborg feels fine and recharged, her line of sight turns to the white poster that she had left on her and Henrietta's woodem circular-shaped table.

It's getting late, she knows. And she doubts that the Agency's cafeteria is serving dinner anymore.

But it's not that big of a deal. Rico doesn't feel hungry. Which is odd, as that usually occurs after a grueling day of training.

But...it is what it is. She figures she might as well pass the rest of her day's time reading the poster she got from Amanda's apartment. Besides, she's curious about what else the poster says.

The blonde climbs out of her bordered bunk, and takes the seat closest to the door, her back facing it. She then flips it over, and searches for the place she left off.

Rico knows she stopped somewhere at the very top. She scans it, quickly reading through the lyrics to 'Heavydirtysoul', until she comes across a lyric that's unfamiliar in her mind. Backtracking, she finds that the previous song she read ends at the right end of the poster, and the new song starts at the other end.

 _I wonder if all the songs on here are put together like this_ , Rico thinks to herself as she begins reading. 

_I WISH I FØUND SØME BETTER SØUNDS NØ ØNE'S EVER HEARD_

_I WISH I HAD A BETTER VØICE THAT SANG SØME BETTER WØRDS_

Alright, so...this man, or woman...whoever it is that is singing this song...feels as though they're unsuccessful. Could the person singing this be the same person who was singing 'Heavydirtysoul'? Or is it someone else, who is groveling in despair about what they could've done to keep his or her job, writing songs and publishing them for the world to sing along with?

Rico's want to go see 'Blurryface' has increased substantially at this new thought. She wishes she could grasp what exactly the plot of this opera is and understand the actual meaning behind all these songs.

Maybe she could ask Jean if he's heard of it and what it's about. Certainly not right now, though, what with the foul mood he's been in for the day's duration. Or maybe she could ask her friend Claes. The bespectacled girl knows all about everything, from vegetables to proverbs...she knows what 'Tosca' is; the possibility of her knowledge of 'Blurryface' is just as high. 

But again, it'd have to wait for another day. The elder cyborg must be asleep at this hour, and Rico would rather not disturb her beauty sleep.

_I WISH I FØUND SØME CHØRDS IN AN ØRDER THAT IS NEW_

_I WISH I DIDN'T HAVE TØ RHYME EVERY TIME I SANG_

...why? Rico, for one, found rhyming to be interesting. Something to help get a reader like herself to enjoy their work. Of course, there are free-verse poems that she's read in Hilshire's class, focusing more on imagery and figurative language to entice a reader. The person who's singing this song could've done that. 

Or...was he or she _forced_ to make rhyme schemes by someone they knew? Hmmm...

_I WAS TØLD WHEN I GET ØLDER ALL MY FEARS WØULD SHRINK_

_BUT NØW I'M INSECURE AND I CARE WHAT PEØPLE THINK_

Now the singer's going towards a more...personal approach. When they were a kid, they must've been shy, quiet, and introverted. But they wanted to change that somehow.

It seemed easy enough in their head. But then it seemed near impossible and scary once they tried to do it. They confided in an older person, probably their parents, and asked for advice. They told them their nervousness would go away once they got older. 

But now that they're older, their nervousness and fears have gotten worse, and they care what others think about them. 

But...didn't someone else's opinion matter? Like, when Rico messed up her sharpshooting. Or if she passed a test in one of her classes. Jean, Hilshire, and her friends always say something about those and other things. 

If someone did bad or good, shouldn't people receive input from others? Rico certainly does.

So what was the problem with that for this person? And why did their insecurities get worse as they grew older? 

Did Amanda relate to this somehow? Did something similar happen to her? What was it that made her feel so insecure as an adult? Did her parents say the same thing to her when she felt insecure?

Her parents never did say things like that in the hospial, from what she could remember. They constantly argued about money behind the curtain. 

She only saw her father's face once—the day she was signed off to the Agency. Her 11th birthday.

And her mother always wore this sad smile during her frequent visits, and brought up random one-sided conversations by her side while she was hooked up to various machinery to help keep her condition stable. 

She never reassured her of anything, though.

And Jean...well, he was Jean. Compliments and reassurances rarely ever came from him. It was always something shared by other fratello.

Not that Rico was complaining or anything. She couldn't be more happier with her life at the Agency.

_MY NAME'S BLURRYFACE AND I CARE WHAT YØU THINK_

_MY NAME'S BLURRYFACE AND I CARE WHAT YØU THINK_

"Wait, _what_?", the cyborg inquires out loud, bringing the poster closer to her widened blue eyes, carefully analyzing the lyrics she just read.

_Did this person **really** just say their name was **Blurryface?**_

Her eyes rushed to the center of the poster, where the black circle with the white box containing the slashed-out word 'Blurryface' sat at the bottom. They darted back to where those particular lyrics lay. Then back. And forth. Then back. And forth. 

 _This can only mean one thing,_ an awestruck Rico concludes.

This... _Blurryface..._ isthe _protagonist_ of the opera. And the opera 'Blurryface' is named after, and based on the main character, Blurryface. 

 _Strange name for a person,_ Rico thinks.  _Perhaps it's not his real name..._ (Blurryface sounds like a boy's name to her.) _...maybe_ _a pen name of some sort? And why did he choose to be referred by **that** name? _

So, if Blurryface is the main character, who exactly are these twenty-one pilots that are spoken of in the box in the top of the the circle? That's something that the blonde hasn't been able to figure out since she first read the song lyrics on this poster last night. Are there a total of twenty-one characters and are they all pilots? Or _were_  they all pilots? Was Blurryface formerly a pilot who's now struggling to get attention paid to his music, and all the other characters are all pilots? Is the box with 'TWENTY ØNE PILØTS' inscribed in black pen carrying some kind of symbolic meaning? Like, there's really twenty pilots in the opera, but Blurryface is still their twenty-first pilot in their hearts? If so, wouldn't 'Blurryface' be a code name of some sort?

Or...

Did Rico misread the title of the opera? Is the opera not really called 'Blurryface'...

...but 'Twenty One Pilots: Blurryface'? 

...

_WISH WE CØULD TURN BACK TIME TØ THE GØØD ØLD DAYS_

_WHEN ØUR MØMMA SANG US TØ SLEEP BUT NØW WE'RE STRESSED ØUT_

...So, 'Stressed Out' is the name of this song. It sure sounds fitting for its theme. 

_WISH WE CØULD TURN BACK TIME TØ THE GØØD ØLD DAYS_

_WHEN ØUR MØMMA SANG US TØ SLEEP BUT NØW WE'RE STRESSED ØUT_

It sounds like Blurryface is talking to somebody. Maybe one of his twenty pilot crewmates? And they probably both wish their lives weren't as hard as they are now. Wanting to turn back time to when their lives were good and they didn't have anything serious to worry about. The time when they were little kids, and their mothers would sing them to sleep with some kind of lullaby. 

She wonders what that kind of feeling's like. To run around and be free without a care in the world. To play games with friends, and be sung lullabies in her bed. 

Oh. She already knew what those felt like. Haha. They felt... _awesome._

Well, except for the lullaby part. That never happened with Rico before.

_WE'RE STRESSED ØUT_

Emphasis, Rico believes it's called. Something to stress importance or feeling. In this case, it's feeling. Or...maybe it could be both.

_SØMETIMES A CERTAIN SMELL WILL TAKE ME BACK TØ WHEN I WAS YØUNG_

_HØW CØME I'M NEVER ABLE TØ IDENTIFY WHERE IT'S CØMING FRØM_

Blurryface is getting a sense of remembering his past with the...sense of _smell?_ Is that even possible? Rico doesn't know. Especially since she normally doesn't have that kind of feeling cross her mind. 

Her thoughts turn to Beatrice, and her brunette comrade's rather strong sense of smell. She's heard some of the other agents compare her to a dog—an animal which also has a strong sense of smell. She bets Beatrice could figure out where any smell is coming from, even if it's a mile away. Maybe she's doing just that in Sardinia right now. 

_I'D MAKE A CANDLE ØUT ØF IT IF I EVER FØUND IT_

_TRY TØ SELL IT NEVER SELL ØUT ØF IT I'D PRØBABLY ØNLY SELL ØNE_

...okay...why? Does Blurryface _really_  believe that?

_IT'D BE TØ MY BRØTHER CUZ WE HAVE THE SAME NØSE_

_SAME CLØTHES HØMEGRØWN A STØNE'S THRØW FRØM A CREEK WE USED TØ RØAM_

So Blurryface has a brother, huh? And they have the same nose and the same kinds of clothing. And they're both homegrown.

_Wonder what that means._

Who exactly _is_ Blurryface's brother? Is he one of the twenty pilots in this opera? Like Jean and his brother Jose are handlers at the Agency? Or is he living a life away from Blurryface, doing something else? Is he an antagonist—a bad guy? Is he bringing pain upon his brother? If so, why? And what is this creek they used to roam?

With all these questions forming in her head, Rico's absolutely, positively sure that this opera is something she wants to bear witness to. She really, really, _really_ wants to know exactly what's going on, and believes it'll hold all the answers to her impending questions, whose list keeps on growing and growing in quantity.

She makes a mental note to ask Claes about it tomorrow. And maybe Jean knows about it, too. Maybe they could go see it during or after one of their missions sometime.

_BUT IT WØULD REMIND US ØF WHEN NØTHING REALLY MATTERED_

_ØUT ØF STUDENT LØANS AND TREEHØUSE HØMES WE ALL WØULD TAKE THE LATTER_

What's a student loan? And what's a treehouse home? Well, the latter sounded like a home made in a tree. As far as she knew, birds and squirrels and a few other animals made homes in trees. Humans lived in buildings, right? 

How silly. But the idea did sound kind of interesting. The same with paying these...student loans. 

Rico wonders what those are. Are they something Blurryface has to pay somebody? He appears to be poor, as he looks upon paying them with disgust. 

Then again, maybe they weren't so much fun to pay. 

_MY NAME'S BLURRYFACE AND I CARE WHAT YØU THINK_

_MY NAME'S BLURRYFACE AND I CARE WHAT YØU THINK_

_WISH WE CØULD TURN BACK TIME TØ THE GØØD ØLD DAYS_

_WHEN ØUR MØMMA SANG US TØ SLEEP BUT NØW WE'RE STRESSED ØUT_

_WISH WE CØULD TURN BACK TIME TØ THE GØØD ØLD DAYS_

_WHEN ØUR MØMMA SANG US TØ SLEEP BUT NØW WE'RE STRESSED ØUT_

_WE USED TØ PLAY PRETEND GIVE EACH ØTHER DIFFERENT NAMES_

_WE WØULD BUILD A RØCKETSHIP AND THEN WE'D FLY IT FAR AWAY_

_USED TØ DREAM ØF ØUTER SPACE BUT NØW THEY'RE LAUGHING AT ØUR FACE SAYING WAKE UP YØU NEED TØ MAKE MØNEY_

_YØ_

Wait...

There was a game called 'Pretend'? Where you gave each other different names and built rocketships that flew great distances? 

She'd heard bits and pieces of the space-race between the United States and Russia in one of Hilshire's classes. The details that stuck out to her the most were the successful launch of Sputnik and the United States's plans to land a rocketship--with people in it--on the moon. 

That's a rather fascinating idea to the young cyborg. It was the same with the 'Pretend' game Blurryface is talking about. She wonders how many rocketships he's built with his friends and where in space he dreamed of going to and actually went to.

Maybe in some of her free time she could build one with her friends. Henrietta would like that very much, she knows. She loves seeing stars. 

So does Rico, but she doesn't see them as often as her roommate. 

But she doubts they'll be giving each other different names. Rico likes all of her friends's names just the way they are. 

Of course, then again, Blurryface _could_ just be some kind of code name, like armies use with soldiers to keep secrecy from their enemies sometimes. Maybe it's the same way with air defense.

So what is Blurryface's real name, then? Or is that kept a secret for the entirety of the opera? 

Rico guesses it would _kind of_ make sense if it wasn't.

...what is 'yo'? What does that word mean? Is it another one of those fancy American terms she's just now hearing of? 

_WE USED TØ PLAY PRETEND GIVE EACH ØTHER DIFFERENT NAMES_

_WE WØULD BUILD A RØCKETSHIP AND THEN WE'D FLY IT FAR AWAY_

_USED TØ DREAM ØF ØUTER SPACE BUT NØW THEY'RE LAUGHING AT ØUR FACE SAYING WAKE UP YØU NEED TØ MAKE MØNEY_

_YØ_

Who's laughing at him? Is it the other twenty pilots whom Blurryface used to work with? Or is it someone else? If so, who? And why? 

Isn't it kind of rude to laugh at someone's ideas? To tell them to do something else? It doesn't really seem that way to Rico, as Jean tells her to do things all the time, whether it be on a mission, or doing undercover work, or whatever else they do for the day's duration. 

Maybe it's the same way with Blurryface. Yet she can't seem to put herself in his shoes. 

(Not literally, metaphorically.)

_Why?_

_WISH WE CØULD TURN BACK TIME TØ THE GØØD ØLD DAYS_

_WHEN ØUR MØMMA SANG US TØ SLEEP BUT NØW WE'RE STRESSED ØUT_

_WISH WE CØULD TURN BACK TIME TØ THE GØØD ØLD DAYS_

_WHEN ØUR MØMMA SANG US TØ SLEEP BUT NØW WE'RE STRESSED ØUT_

_USED TØ PLAY PRETEND USED TØ PLAY PRETEND BUNNY_

_WE USED TØ PLAY PRETEND WAKE UP YØU NEED THE MØNEY_

Who's 'Bunny'? Is it the person Blurryface is talking to? It seems that way. 

Is Bunny one of the twenty pilots? A best friend of sorts? Bunny sounds like a girl's name--it could either be that, or...

...could she be his _wife?_

And why is Blurryface telling Bunny to make money? Is he becoming lazy and resentful now? Or is she detecting sarcasm use? 

_USED TØ PLAY PRETEND USED TØ PLAY PRETEND BUNNY_

_WE USED TØ PLAY PRETEND WAKE UP YØU NEED THE MØNEY_

_WE USED TØ PLAY PRETEND GIVE EACH ØTHER DIFFERENT NAMES_

_WE WØULD BUILD A RØCKETSHIP AND THEN WE'D FLY IT FAR AWAY_

_USED TØ DREAM ØF ØUTER SPACE BUT NØW THEY'RE LAUGHING AT ØUR FACE SAYING WAKE UP YØU NEED TØ MAKE MØNEY_

_YØ_

And then, Rico comes across another lyric in the middle of the line. But she has a gut-feeling that she's finished this song. 

Strange. They don't all start at the left corner. They're just all...clumped together. 

Not that the cyborg has an issue with that. Art has always been intriguing to her, especially this poster in her hands.

Her excitement's been piqued, her curiosity is festering, craving for more, and she's literally got goosebumps prickling her skin. 

She chooses to keep reading, find out what else the poster says. But suddenly, the door behind her opens. 

Rico gasps in surprise and turns around. 

Who she sees sends her excitement skyrocketing.

A girl, with short, neck-length brown hair, wearing a cream-colored coat with red stripes, velvet red skirt, knee-length stockings and dress shoes, and a soft smile is her unexpected guest. 

Henrietta. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I don't know too much about how to use guns and snipers and all that, especially since I don't engage in gun use myself, so apologies for inaccuracies :(


	3. RIDE

It is early in the morning when Rico wakes up to bright sunlight streaming through her dormitory window. Like every morning, the first thing that crosses her mind is the need to know that she still has her cybernetic body.

She checks her hands, moving its fingers around. She then wipes away her morning tears with her sleeve-covered arm while propping herself up. Her hands then go to her feet,  caressing them out in relief.

She still has her body, which means she's still free to move around however she wishes, and she's still of use to the Agency and Jean.

Above her lies her sleeping roommate, Henrietta, who had returned from her mission just last night, much to the joy of Rico. Her roommate was just as excited to be back, albeit a little tired from the drive back home.

But what was the main source of happiness for the brunette was a painting that her handler Jose had given her as a reward for her hard work on their mission, which sat right on top of her poster on their table for the time being.

To Rico, the painting is rather accurate, with beautiful shades of colors coating it, especially around the painted figures of Henrietta and Jose. It really looks like something that's straight from the Uffizi Art Gallery.

Plus, it must've been _quite_ the price to pay. Rico wonders how long it took for the person who painted this to finish it.

 _Who knew Jose had an eye for art?,_ Rico wonders in awe.

Rico had also shown Henrietta the poster she had taken from Amanda Ermacora's apartment last night too, of course. She explained how she acquired said poster, excitedly gushing about the lyrics, the designs in the circle in the middle of it, both of which lead her to believe that the poster depicted the lyrics to an American opera by the name of 'Twenty One Pilots: Blurryface', that has successfully piqued her interest so much that it's something she wishes to bear witness to.

Henrietta herself found it interesting, having scanned through the small words, noticeably curious about the slashes through the 'o's and the words written in red, which Rico explained were the song titles. Then the girls tried to imagine what the songs, specifically the last two that Rico read through, would sound like before Henrietta got sleepy and they both decided to go to bed.

_Speaking of which..._

The blonde cyborg hops out of bed and to the table, grabbing the item in question out from under her roommate's painting, and taking a seat, careful not to disturb her still sleeping friend.

For some reason, the girl remembers where exactly it was that she stopped at, as if she had placed some kind of mental mark to remember. Which she didn't.

Oh well. It _is_ kind of cool, though.

_I JUST WANNA STAY IN THE SUN WHERE I FIND_

_I KNØW IT'S HARD SØMETIMES_

'Wanna'? What does 'wanna' mean? It sounds very much like 'want to'...is it another fancy term that people use?

And what is Blurryface...or maybe Bunny...? trying to find? Is it something very important, relevant to the story? It doesn't say...but why? And why is it hard?

_PIECES ØF PEACE IN THE SUN'S PEACE ØF MIND_

_I KNØW IT'S HARD SØMETIMES_

Alliteration noted. Also, is this what the characters are trying to find?

Rico knows the sun isn't alive; it's a bright yellow star that provides light during the day. So how can they provide peace of mind to an object?

Or do the characters follow a religion that makes them believe this? And they're having doubts about it?

_YEAH I THINK ABØUT THE END JUST WAY TØØ MUCH_

_BUT IT'S FUN TØ FANTASIZE_

_ØN MY ENEMIES I WØULDN'T WISH WHØ I WAS_

_BUT IT'S FUN TØ FANTASIZE_

So it must be Blurryface singing this piece. _Wow._ Rico knows he thinks lowly of his life, but she didn't think it'd go to this extent. She has vague memories of someone she knew in great pain, wishing for the same fate. She didn't know who, though. But she can ask herself, did something terrible happen to make Blurryface think that way?

Probably. She just wishes she knew _what._

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH ØH_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

_TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

So...'Ride' appears to be the name of this piece. And the chorus kind of has an...upbeat tone to it. It's as if there's a mood change, and maybe a change in speed, too.

It seems that Blurryface seems to take joy in driving around in some kind of vehicle as well. It alleviates the pain caused by bad things going on in his life. It could quite possibly be a coping method, too...just enjoying the sights given to him alongside the road, or ahead of him, the vehicle is being driven on. 

But didn't he say he was _falling?_  If this is so, how is he able to drive? 

 _Metaphors. Poetry's made with a bunch of metaphors,_ Rico is reminded in her mind.

That's weird. That voice sounded a lot like Triela. 

But nevertheless, the words spoken into her mind are true. 

So...if Blurryface is falling...it must mean...falling from grace, maybe? But what grace would he have, considering the position he's in? Is it the grace from some sort of religion he's following? Or maybe, grace he receives from being around the people who care about him? Or both?

If that's so, then that must mean that him riding is the only comfort that's helping him stick around.  _Wow..._

_I'D DIE FØR YØU THAT'S EASY TØ SAY_

_WE HAVE A LIST ØF PEØPLE THAT WE WØULD TAKE_

_A BULLET FØR THEM A BULLET FØR YØU_

_A BULLET FØR EVERYBØDY IN THIS RØØM_

_BUT I DØN'T SEEM TØ SEE MANY BULLETS CØMING THRØUGH_

_SEE MANY BULLETS CØMING THRØUGH_

_METAPHØRICALLY I'M THE MAN_

_BUT LITERALLY I DØN'T KNØW WHAT I'D DØ_

It appears that Blurryface is speaking to somebody. Could it be Bunny he's speaking to? Or could it be one of his pilot comrades? 

The latter doesn't seem very likely to Rico. The phrase, "I'd die for you", has been spoken between lovers in most of the poetry and short stories she's read in Hilshire's classes. So it's probably Bunny he's speaking...er, singing, to. 

That phrase also strikes a chord with the blonde. She kills bad guys on a daily basis for the Agency, and Jean is with her doing the same thing. Bullets fly, usually hitting the terrorists and killing them, but sometimes bullets hit the cyborgs and they'd be treated by the doctors once they returned from said mission.

They never hit the handlers. She, and the other cyborgs, won't allow that to happen. 

So...yes. Rico doesn't have the desire to die; she lives a happy life here. But she works for the Agency and Jean. She'd take every bullet thrown her way if it meant Jean survived.

What exactly is this _list_ that's being spoken of? With closer examination, Rico deduces that it's the list of people whom both Blurryface and Bunny would take a bullet for. And it'd be no surprise if they were both on each other's list. It probably wouldn't be one if Blurryface's other twenty pilot comrades were on his list, either. 

_But he doesn't see many bullets coming through..._

Another metaphor, perhaps? It may seem as though Blurryface feels the others around him don't feel the same way; that they don't care about him as much as he thought they did. And he's admitting so to those around him in the room that he is in, specifically Bunny.

Rico is suddenly _really_ hoping that's certainly not the case. Even though she hasn't seen the opera concerning Blurryface's plight, she has taken an interest in this character and wants everything to turn out all right for him in the end. For him to have good friends and a good wife that like him.

But of course, that's probably the case with most, if not all, protagonists in any form of entertainment.

_I'D LIVE FØR YØU AND THAT'S HARD TØ DØ_

_EVEN HARDER TØ SAY WHEN YØU KNØW IT'S NØT TRUE_

_EVEN HARDER TØ WRITE WHEN YØU KNØW THAT TØNIGHT_

_THERE WERE PEØPLE BACK HØME WHØ TRIED TALKING TØ YØU_

_BUT THEN YØU IGNØRE THEM STILL_

_ALL THESE QUESTIØNS THEY'RE FØR REAL_

_LIKE WHØ WØULD YØU LIVE FØR WHØ WØULD_ _YØU DIE FØR_

_AND WØULD YØU EVER KILL_

Oh, so he  _will_ live for them. That's good...

...or at least... _try_ to. But he can't promise that he will live as long as he's desired to. 

And apparently, he wants to use that previous line as a song lyric, but it's hard to write when he's tried communicating with his wife and his pilot comrades, but they ignored his attempts to talk to them. Thus, it'd probably made Blurryface feel lonely and unimportant.

Rico finds that prospect disturbing and really unfortunate. It sort of sounds like how she lived in that hospital room for all those years, wanting someone to just be there with her, although she was of little use to anyone. But that feeling seems so distant to reach now, and empathizing isn't really easy for her, either. Today, it felt like it'd be easy to do, but no. And she doesn't know why.

Oh well. It's not like she wants to think about that experience, anyway. Besides, she has a body to move around, and a purpose in her life. 

Anyway, back to the poster. 

Blurryface has questions. And those questions are who he's willing to live for, and who he's willing to die for. These questions are urging, impending. Unable to go away until answered. And these questions are there because he doubts his friendships and relationship with his wife, as they seem to find anything else in their lives more important than him. Or, it  _is_ possible he's asking those questions to his friends, to see if they would live and/or die for him. To see if they still care about him.

_And would you ever kill...?_

Haven't Blurryface and his pilot friends killed before? Haven't they blown up enemy fighters to protect their nation's skies? 

Oh wait...

Is Blurryface asking if his friends would ever  _kill someone for him?_ As in, killing someone who is oppressing him, or someone who supports a national enemy in his place? 

The former is shocking, something that even the Agency would probably never even think of doing for someone they care for. But that has happened before, especially in reality, where there was a national enemy actually doing so to Italy's people. 

They were doing so to Amanda...before she died...

Rico doesn't exactly feel sad for her, really. But since she took this enthralling poster from the woman's apartment, isn't that  _kind of_ being introduced to these new songs from a new opera? Didn't she take something that's what's  _left_ of Amanda, and therefore being introduced to her? Wouldn't someone who didn't know Amanda, or someone else who lost their life, personally, be  _moved_ by what she left behind, and feeling a sense of sadness (and/or longing) once they laid eyes on it?

If so, why doesn't _she?_  

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH ØH_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

_TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

Why is she sensing irony now?

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_HELP ME_

...

There's no thoughts Rico can come up with on this one for some reason. No flanks of questions swarming her mind, no fascination at this part...

Nothing. These words she's just read seem to speak for themselves.

That feeling of irony seems to grow stronger. Yet she can't place a finger on why this is so. It would feel just plain weird if it didn't give her such an...empty feeling...

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_HELP ME_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH ØH_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME_

_TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

_WHØA ØH ØH_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH ØH_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME ØN MY RIDE_

_ØH ØØH ØH ØØH ØH I'M FALLING_

_SØ I'M TAKING MY TIME ØN MY_

...ride?

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_HELP ME_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_HELP ME_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_HELP ME_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_I'VE BEEN THINKING TØØ MUCH_

_HELP ME_

And...that's the end...

The blonde cyborg places the poster on top of her roommate's painting, almost in a cautious manner, as if the item in question is as fragile as what's below it, although it is merely a long, thick piece of paper. 

It seems as though those last few lyrics had hit her somehow with their irony. She doesn't feel sad, just...thrown off guard, kind of. Confused, too, but not as much as this weird feeling setting in her chest. And it all the more brings some cause for alarm with it. 

And it brings her a question as well.

Was she moved?

At her right side, she hears Henrietta yawning softly. She turns to that direction, to be met with the sight of her roommate in a sitting position on her bunk, stretching her arms out. A moment later, the brunette's line of sight turns and meets Rico's own.

"Good morning, Rico", the girl greets warmly with one of her gentle smiles. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

The blonde can't really voice a response, as she seems to be at a loss for words, also. Is what she just read  _really_ this  _potent?_ _Strange..._

"...oh...good morning", she replies, voice quieter than she wished for it to be. "I was just..."

"Were you reading your poster again?", Henrietta inquires shortly after Rico trails off. 

"Yeah", she answers, eyes cutting to the item in question. 

"...well it sure is quite the piece of art", her roommate comments lightly.

"Yeah...yeah, it is."

Suddenly, the door behind her opens, snapping both of the cyborg girls to attention, Rico jumping out of her chair and standing at the ready. 

And it is a good thing she did too, because it's Jean who is standing in front of her. 

"Rico", he begins. "Get dressed and get something to eat. Once you've done so, meet me outside the cafeteria. We're meeting an informant who knows where the man who terrorized Amanda Ermacora to suicide is."

"Yes, sir", Rico replies, equally emotionless. 

Jean closes the door, and the cyborg lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. 

A part of her conditioned mind thinks it was a close call; Jean didn't seem to take notice of what contents lay on her and Henrietta's table. Which was good; she doesn't really want the poster to be taken away from her. She hasn't even finished reading the lyrics to all the songs on it yet!

A part of her believes that thought to be out of plain old selfishness. Jean taught her how to handle guns and take out bad guys. He provided her clothes to wear, and helped give her a new body to walk around with, to grasp objects with...

That should feel like enough. She didn't have any of those abilities for eleven years in a hospital room. Now she has them, thanks to the Agency and Jean.

But...with all the gifts Jose gives Henrietta every time she completed a mission successfully...

... _No._

_You're alive. You have a purpose in that life. And that's serving the Agency and Jean. Nothing else is required._

...

"Amanda Ermacora?", inquires Henrietta, climbing out of her bunk. "Isn't that the woman you took the poster from?"

"...yeah..."

Henrietta nods. "Well that's good! You're going to find out who drove her to suicide and kill them, right?"

Rico nods, eyes downcast to the poster she took. The poster she  _still_ feels guilty for taking despite direct orders not to, despite the fascination and the excitement it brought to her while reading its lyrics. 

"Yeah. Yeah!", Rico nods with a smile, more enthusiastically than she feels. 

Henrietta smiles as well. "Well, good luck with catching him!" 

As Rico goes to pick out some clothes to wear in her and Henrietta's shared wardrobe, she can't help but to wonder:

_Shouldn't I be feeling happy that I'm going to kill another bad guy? Especially if it's the person who made Amanda want to take her own life and leave behind the poster that I took from her apartment? I'm usually that way when I've got a job to do...why does this time feel so different?_

* * *

"And he said...he was headed for Apulia", the informant, whose name was Irwin, was saying. "He didn't say  _where_ in Apulia, he just said...you know, Apulia."

"We're conducting research on Yasir Masih as we speak", Jean replies as he drives along the road. "Is there anything else you can provide on him that we should know about?"

"...well, he's a hider", Irwin says. "Like a mole that digs underground. It's hard for one to actually _catch_  Yasir, he's good at evading anyone who's after him. That's one of the reasons why he's like, #1 most wanted in his home country of Morocco...I suggest you be careful with him. He's a master of disguise as well. He could be right in front of you and you wouldn't even know it was him who offered to pay for your meal."

"Hmmm...we have an agent who's excellent at perception and observation. I could ask the Chief if he could be involved with tracking him down. It'd make the job get done quicker."

"Hm. If you say so. Not that I doubt you or your comrades or anything."

"Of course."

Irwin sighed. "I just hope you can put an end to that maniac as quickly as possible. I'm tired of having to check my windows every night and keep my girls home from school because of him. Lord knows it'd take a lot of weight off of more than just my shoulders."

"Yes."

The vehicle lapses into silence. And Rico is grateful for that. Not that discussing what exactly is going to happen to Yasir Masih, the man responsible for Amanda's suicide, isn't important or anything. Certainly not.

It's just that the questions that have taken form in her mind have seemingly been sprouting new ones like a mother hen with her hatching chicks. Their demands to be answered grow stronger as each minute passes, and there's not exactly anything that Rico can do about it at the moment. 

All she's doing right now is staring out the window, watching the sight of trees and grass pass her by, like she does every time she gets in a car and takes drives like this.

The simple sights on the side of the road are very fascinating to see to Rico, especially when she's driving past them in a car. She doesn't really know what it is that fascinates her so much about it, the simplicity of it, or the wonder of what the objects in her view look like as blurs, as they tend to look when driving past them with such speed. Or maybe it's both that do. 

But today, it seems as though the sights in her window are much more intriguing than usual. It's like, there's someone...speaking to her, using figurative language to describe why. They're using the method of comparing to get a message across. 

But  _why?_ What is it this voice in her head, which is not asking a multitude of questions, trying to say?

...oh.

It's saying this must be like "Ride", the song which she read through earlier this morning. 

Her enjoying the simple sights on the side of the road is just like Blurryface does. 

Now that that's been mentioned, there  _has_ been a point made. Huh. 

Who was she to know that she and a fictional character would share a commonality? An interesting one at that, too. Especially since she doesn't really take interest in that sort of thing. Probably because to her, there was a line between fiction and reality, one which carried an unspoken rule about crossing it. She wonders if other people like her have crossed that border as well, and how that went for them. She wonders if there are others who somehow have similar experiences and interests as fictional characters did.

And she wonders how that feels for them.

And then, not a moment later, she finds herself trying to figure out how "Ride", sounds like. What kind of pace it's at, what Blurryface's singing voice sounds like. She bets it's sounds very nice to the ears. The same goes for the music itself. The song's struck some kind of interest in her, more so than the other ones she's read. She might even go so far to say it's her favorite one so far. 

She wonders what the characters look like, as well as the settings they're in. They probably might not be the nicest ones, like the mood of the opera. And she also wonders how many people are fascinated with 'Twenty One Pilots: Blurryface', just like she is. Though no doubt most of them are American. 

"We know Masih's a drifter...never really staying in one location for more than a few days at a time", Jean says, suddenly breaking the silence. "He most likely doesn't have any owned property or relatives to take refuge with. He'll most likely find a hotel to stay in for a night or two...we'll just have to find out which one."

"So I'm guessing Apulia's where you're headed now?", Irwin asks. 

"Correct."

"You droppin' me off somewhere along the way?" 

"Of course."

"Okay...I live in Molise, like, close to your destination."

"Yes."

"Alrighty then. I'll tell you where you can drop me off. I can walk from home, I do it all the time."

"You shouldn't", chides Jean. "Especially with terrorists like Masih on the loose."

"I know, but I don't own a vehicle...", Irwin falters, "...and I don't have many friends. And...I don't wish to waste your time with my presence. The sooner you catch that crazy bastard, the sooner this whole mess is over."

"...suit yourself", Jean cedes. 

And once more the vehicle lapses back into silence, while inside Rico's head, there's metaphorical pandemonium, screaming, demanding, for answers not only to the questions she's got from reading material...

...but also for the new feelings forming inside of her, ones that feel as though they've once been there, locked away deep inside, but someway, somehow, have been unlocked. 

And how so?

...

_Maybe it's the poster that's the magic key._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaannnd, that's the end of RIDE! Sorry for the rushed, lame ending. I've pushed myself to finish this ASAP...I've got some "Winter Cleaning" to do...(and by that, I mean, focus on getting my other fics past the 3-chapter mark...)
> 
> Apulia is a region in southeastern Italy. It's like, that peninsula that's closest to the Balkans (Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Albania, Montenegro, Macedonia, and Bulgaria), it's got the most coastline, and it's got some REALLY pretty sites there, such as the Castel del Monte, Ostuni (which is a historic medieval town), Gargano National Park, Alta Murgia National Park (the picture I was shown on Wikipedia kinda looked like the hut Luke Skywalker was secluding himself in in The Last Jedi LOL)...I think I wanna visit Apulia sometime. :)
> 
> (Note:It's called Puglia in Italy)

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody once told me reviews make the world go round! Please, R&R! I'd appreciate it.
> 
> (Constructive criticism is allowed, but flames, aka HATE, is not.)


End file.
